The Body

The Body

Postby Rance » Mon Sep 02, 2013 10:49 am

The stiffness had never set in.

That was usually the way with corpses. The tendons and sinews were the first to suffer the indignity of death -- the bowels expelled, the water trickled free, and the sudden looseness in the muscles rattled out a final flatulent cry. A farewell dirge, an announcement to the world that a life had ended, and the meat had been quickly set to rot.

The next was the blood. Without a heart in governance, it would cease to pump. Lifeless fluids would pool in patches of black and purple at the body's lowest points, swelling the already-tightening flesh, forming hard, dark blisters that begged for breath and air. Blood wanting for purpose, but that found none. Fermentation in the organs and their raucous juices. The knuckles would expand until they popped with gasses, the knees would crack and turn inward as skin became rawhide, and the stomach would begin to bloat, almost pregnant, as the acids and flotsam within proceeded to yield a stink, a proclamation--

This body is dead. This body must be burned.

But Jule Mitchell, a fairly new attendant in the employ at the Rememdium Edificium, never intended to burn the corpse. Not because he would not have preferred it, but because the evidence was unclear. The definitions of what he'd learned in his youthful tenures at the behest of bandages and bonesaws were suddenly blurred by this, the corpse of one Niall the spearwielder--

One, a grievous wound cleaved into her spine, so deep that the red became black. A lung beneath had been hacked almost in two, rightfully deflated. How had the boy's reluctant edge missed the vertabrae, how it had struck so true -- as if the woman had willingly readied herself for the blow -- was a wonder for only the One God to discern.

Two, the distinct absence of breath or heartbeat, of consciousness or being. No stink of feces in the bloody trousers nor the blanch patch of urine that would have guaranteed a body's last rites of function.

Three, there had been no deterioration. No rigor, no pooling, no rigidity in the limbs or atrophy of the muscles. He'd waited five hours, then ten; he'd breakfasted the next morning, then lunched, then returned to the body again to find it was still pliable, still soft.

Four, the seamstress' words: You cannot burn her. There has got to be something for her to go back to. When all is said and done, she has got to be like a cup, a cup that you're waiting to -- to fill right back up. You see? And we can just pour her right back into her skin.

He mixed the poultices. He crushed the herbs. He found a room in the Rememdium for this corpse that refused to rot, as if something, something that separated the colors of life from the finality of death had forgotten its course.

Jule Mitchell wrapped the body of the spearwielder in ribbons of fabric soaked in a dilution of molac root. To keep away the pests, the flies. To ensure the skin suffered no undue trauma. He stuffed the wound with milky leaves.

For days, there was no life. There would be no life.

What are you doing, Jule? You should just burn it -- you know the teachings, you know the rules.

But skeptical boys always made mistakes.
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Re: The Body

Postby Guppy » Wed Sep 04, 2013 6:11 am

There was no breath in the lungs. No thud-thump to the heart. No pulses beat like a drum against his fingers. The eyes did not twitch in sleep. Nothing - not even if he checked and double-checked. Triple checked when it became clear that the body was not showing any signs of decomposition. No signs of death other than that eerie stillness. It was as if the body were static. Unchanging, as nothing in life was. And yet, and yet, he cared for the corpse as if it would rise, would awaken. He bent to Gloria Wynsee's bullying, as many often did, and he did his best to poultice the wounds and sew them closed. He bandaged, he changed bandages. No doubt thinking himself foolish the entire time.

One morning, when dawn had nearly lifted, he went to check on the body and things had shifted. Everything had been static for so long, he might have begun to doubt the wisdom of his choices. Today, however, the wounds were beginning to knit together. Skin cleaved apart by blade was still cold, but the edges were coming together. Knitting.

There was life hidden within this corpse. It did not make sense. It could not make sense.

As he stood, staring at the body, the chest rose in a breath. A single, simple expression of pain crossed the formerly slack countenance of the spear-wielder as the stiffened, unused joints were bent. The figure sat up and sighed, pressing hands to spine and pushing until it cracked. At the motion, there was another hiss of pain as the sutures upon the wound tugged against freshly healing skin. A hand fell to press at the wound, eyelids fluttering open to assess it critically. Lips pursed in consideration before coal-blackened eyes lifted to settle upon Jule. Those lips twisted in a smile that brought to mind all manner of evil.

"Well, hello, love. Be a dear and fetch me some water and some food so I can let the girl heal, would you?," the creature asked, from its new-found skin. "Her body needs the energy. And new clothing, as well." Another glance down at her form as she slipped from the table and gave a lithe stretch, limbs fairly groaning in protest. Any fear from the man would be noted, but ignored. If he stumbled to obey her, she would seek to stop him with a cleared throat.

"Oh, and do fetch Wynsee. We must talk, she and I." The creature's smile was dangerous.
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Re: The Body

Postby Rance » Wed Sep 04, 2013 8:31 am

Hours later, Gloria Wynsee closed the door behind her, and thrust her spine flat up against it.

"N-...Niall?"

Jule had thought, first, to gather up a candle and flour, burn the body, burn this horrible speaking thing, but he'd neither crushed malt nor flame. A horrified wheeze rasped in the back of his throat as the dead-living figure made its demands. A bladder of water was fetched in wordless relief, a satchel of half-molded bread delivered with haste. And then the final demand: to summon the foreign girl that had begged him, without explanation, to preserve the body in the first place--

Jule Mitchell had never run so fast in his life.


Her fists locked around the thighs of her stained skirts. A disheveled bonnet leaned like a duck's broken beak over her flushed face -- Gloria Wynsee had never run so fast in her life -- and she could not drag her damp eyes away from this vision in front of her. Lounging spearwielder, a lifeless body that seemed to move and function of its own will, a horror--

wholly, irrevocably unnatural

(this was how it would go; she would not die, she would not die, Niall made her choice)

a thing with no breath, a thing with no breath

(brilliant idea, wonderful idea; nobody was going to die, we were going to fix--)

flecks of blood in her hair, all over her hands, wet, wet, warm, sticky-like-sap it won't come off blood, so much blood, so much fucking blood--

(elliot; but what about cherny, what about him?)

Ask a choirgirl to set her eyes upon the very opposite of belief. What is dead is dead; what is alive still lives. Ask a Junior Inquisitor to understand, accept, instantaneously embrace the wonders of the very bleak and black rituals and mysteries she might one day seek to unravel as part of the Inquisitory--

--ask her to do those things, but recognize that she was still a simple-minded child with so many convictions and so few truths, and it might make clear sense why she bit into her palms until they bled and she resisted the urge to scream. And she did not register the sudden, furious warmth at her knees, the rhythmic trickling of fluid spattering the floorboards between her black boots.

"Niall," she said.

(look what you've done.)
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Re: The Body

Postby Guppy » Wed Sep 04, 2013 9:33 am

The water was gulped down readily and she could feel the body latch onto the liquid ravenously. Put it to use. Muscle and bone, blood and bile that had been dormant began to move again, began to function as they should. The bread was consumed, choked down despite its molded state. Illness was nothing to creature born of Death itself. The energy was utilized immediately.

Then, it waited. And not for long.

Gloria burst into the room as if her coat-tails were aflame. Niall sat, sprawled effortlessly, upon the table where her corpse had been resting for days. Outwardly, she was just the same as she had ever been. The cold sinking into Gloria's bones would be her first hint that things were not as they seemed. The second were that those pools of coal-black staring back at her and the amusement etched on those features. The creature stared at the girl, sneering at the fear that seized her, kept her stationary at the door. Teeth bit into the heels of her palms hard enough to draw blood and the scent of urine filled the air.

The creature rolled Its eyes and heaved a put-upon sigh. "No," she snapped, irritated after being kept still for so long. Annoyed that the seamstress had ruined her very-dramatic rebirth with her altogether human terror. "Not Niall. She is sleeping. She would die, if I were to release her. There is still far too much damage," she insisted. She reached down to tug the shirt up, to reveal the wounds. "The wound needs to be sewn again. Do make yourself useful, for once," the monster wearing Niall's flesh snapped.

If the girl set to work, the creature would relax, ever so slightly.
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Re: The Body

Postby Rance » Thu Sep 05, 2013 12:38 am

So cold.

The marrow in her brown bones rattled, turned to stone, stone--

(She knew they were brown because she'd seen half-rotten bodies in Jernoah before -- a woman staked out to the Glass Sand, sentenced to death for speaking out against the Nameless; she was less a once-human than a smeared stain across the white, white sand, her torso gnawed into twigs by passing desert-beasts, the folds of her motherskirt -- her am'ka -- twisted around her legs like a bloody bandage. Her bones stuck out of her leathery skin, the splintered edges the color of dirt.)

The seamstress' boot-tip dragged through the glistening puddle beneath her, her clothes heavy with wetness she could not even register as an embarrassment. An ache grew behind her eyes, pressed against her skull from all sides within it.

"She's supposed to -- to be asleep," she whispered, staring not at Niall's wan corpse, but as the thing within it, beyond it, wholly uncomprehending. The connections flared out in her brain, a concept that could not take root. What must be dead must stay dead. A new unease came to her, her body begging for control again -- but this time, a matter of her stomach, a twisting in it that made the girl press the back of her hand to her mouth as she stared upon an unholy thing--

Trying not to vomit. Trying not to just let all the half-digested waste back out. She wanted to scrub so badly, rake at her own her skin until it was raw, raw.

All the noises in the room were a cicada's crackle behind her ears, a scraping annoyance that she could not scour from her brain. Niall's voice was a breeze in her veins, a curse.

"No," the girl whispered, a word that was becoming increasingly sensible as of late, a means by which to slow down the world and cause it to adhere to reason, to rules and nature. "What if -- if I don't sew her back up. What if I don't sew her right back up," Gloria said.

"What if I refuse?"
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Re: The Body

Postby Guppy » Thu Sep 05, 2013 3:12 pm

The creature watched Gloria and regretted every second of this interaction. Regretted summoning her and regretted sending the far more obedient Jule away. There was more than a little of the seamstress' humanity bleeding through in this instant. The wrongness of the corpse rising, speaking, healing. It was such an ordinary reaction that the creature was disappointed. "Gloria. Maggot. Cow," each word was snapped with greater volume. Sharper. More and more brittle. "Stop being so boring. So human. This was your doing. Your plan. You were the grand architect behind all of this and you don't get to panic like some idiot-child when you are faced with the consequences," the creature told her. Voice low and dangerous. Angry and impatient. "You demanded that Niall die so that it would upset the balance and allow Elliot to see that she was not the witch he thought she was. You forced the favor she owed you. You pressed me for my help in convincing her, my assistance in preserving her lovely corpse. You do not get to tremble and point in shock and dismay, girl."

The monster wearing Niall's flesh gestured impatiently to the wounds that Gloria had yet to attend to, leaning upon the table. Waiting for the inevitable action. Gloria's questions, the defiance snapping in every single word, made Its eyes narrow in distaste. There was a low sound, very like a snarl, that wormed its way past her lips. It caught in her chest, reverberating dangerously. "Mind your tongue, else I will cut it free," the creature vowed, black pools that served as eyes slitted. The room was frigid. "Ah, but you will sew her right back up. And you will not refuse because you can not possibly be that stupid."

"This was your plan."
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Re: The Body

Postby Rance » Thu Sep 05, 2013 4:39 pm

"The plan was not to wear her body like -- like a common dress. The plan," Gloria hissed, cutting a hand through the air, "was to preserve the light in her as -- as you did in Noura. Not to dance about in her corpse. Not to make demands of young men I begged to offer me a favor."

It was by the grace of good fortune that Jule had managed, by some clever scheming, to keep anyone out of this room, to to keep it locked. The air in there is bad. The woman who lays there is lingering on a mere hinge of life, he'd told the other attendants at the Rememdium. Do not disturb her. I will see to her needs.

But behind that same door, a quiet standoff -- a forward step, a boot scraping against the ground while she lowered her voice and thrust a pointed finger back behind her.

"That is not a town of people who take kindly to glimpses of the -- the recently murdered." She tightened her teeth into an ingress of yellow and brown, clenching the edge of her tongue with a rotten incisor in the attempt to redirect her attention, keep from being ill, still her heart from its burgeoning fear. "Do you think, pek'oret, that I take pride in this deed? It is sick, it -- it was an abomination of thought, a desperate step I should have never taken.

"But you agreed to keep her safe, not to wear her flesh like armor. It is in your best interest, and hers, that you find a more appropriate place to house her--" essence? Heart? Light? A low-streets tongue could scarcely find a proper descriptor; this was beyond her, scarcely a concept she could understand let alone master. Her lips scrambled for the appropriate word, but never found it. The only tasted sour bile. Her stomach churned, her knees chattered a frightful rhythm.

Mind your tongue, else I will cut it free.

The seamstress looked upon the spearwielder's corpse and said, "Keep still her body until she's returned. Preserve this -- this illusion of death, and that alone. Or I refuse. She is not your plaything. And me?

"I am not your servant."
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Re: The Body

Postby Guppy » Fri Sep 06, 2013 9:44 am

"Actually, my dear," she drawled, her tone a slow-burning anger. How dare Gloria the maggot speak to her betters in such a manner. "You neglected to get into the fine details of the plan. Despite your haughty tone, you have very little to do with the plan other than the basic idea behind it. Architect you might be, but we are the ones getting our hands dirty. Do not pretend to be concerned for her. You share no love, so keep your indignant shock to yourself, girl." The creature was impatient. Annoyed at the apparent change of heart. "I have taken control of the whelp time and again. That gives you no pause, does it?," the monster questioned, unconcerned. "Besides, I am bored to tears just laying here. If I had to silently sit and watch that man stare back at me for one more second, there would have been violence." The truth was far more simple, it seemed.

Another, passive glance at the door as Gloria spoke of the town and their uncertainty about the rising dead. "They were mistaken. She was not dead and that man helped to heal her. It is a miracle. Praise whoever!," she insisted, drawling the words seeping with sarcasm and eyes rolling.

Gloria told her that she felt no pride in these actions and the demoness grunted. "You made your bed. Now lay in it." An impatient gesture towards the wounds. "She is safe as she is. I will not take her from this body. Her magic is tied to this body and while I would love to steal her form and her magic, I have some inane fondness for her that is highly irritating," she snapped. Angry with herself, now. "I have things to do. I will not lay in wait. Do your duty or leave, Wynsee. I will not suffer you anymore."

Eyes narrowed. "And do not think for one second that I have not kept a watchful eye on the whelp while I have been waiting. That girl is highly distressed and I suspect that you have something to do with it." Possibly the reason for the change of plans, for the walking corpse. "As you always do."

The corpse strode for the door with purpose, calling Gloria's bluff.
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Re: The Body

Postby Rance » Fri Sep 06, 2013 10:47 am

The creature in Niall's body strode forward, a punctuation to her thousand words -- but It might have found that there was no bluff, that there was no ruse here.

Two palms lashed out to strike at the spearwielder's chest, meaning to pump against her, push away the otherwise fragile body that loped toward her. Despite the trickled smear of clouded urine glistening with broth-warmth on the floor, she set her knees as a barrier between the door between Niall's body, its new director, and the freedom of a Myrken Wood that could satisfy the being's ennui.

"I will scream," the seamstress hissed, a row of bare knuckles tightening at her hip. Her skirt-hem flared as she lunged forward a step. While the volume of her voice was minute, the weight of the promise was leaden cargo. "I will scream, and the attendants will come running. They will see this unbreathing thing before them, and like any frightened mob, they -- they would consume you. It might take only a few moments for the Constables to arrive. Miracles burn as quickly as any other corpse.

"Or perhaps I will burn Niall's body myself. I will carry that guilt into my death. I'll allow Niall to -- to be no vehicle, nor some unnatural marionette to be used for your amusement. You are -- are reliant upon me, pek'oret, else you would not have called for me.

"Leave me in -- in a bloody heap, and they will know. They will brand you a killer; more accurately, if they didn't believe her dead, they will brand Niall a murderer, and whatever responsibilities you -- you felt fit to satisfy would be overwhelmed by the necessity to run, to flee."

She was barrel-round, a large girl in both height and width that guaranteed challenge between Niall and the doorway. While her fear was still a sour stink of sweat and piss clogging the air, her tightened fists spoke of the simplest urge: to swing, if so required, and bludgeon an atrocity she -- in her greed, in her want for insight -- had introduced to the world.

Her tremoring tongue was a rubberwood whipcrack, a daring challenge. She spoke nothing of Noura. Not yet. She must be steely; she must be Jerno. Hard granite. Unyielding, no matter how greatly she simply wished to bend, strain, break.

"You will do as I say," said Gloria. "You will maintain the illusion of Niall's demise. And only then will I remember how to sew."
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Re: The Body

Postby Guppy » Sun Sep 08, 2013 4:31 am

The creature clad in Niall's body stepped forward to test the strength of Gloria's convictions. It was enough for the young woman to bring two palms up to push firmly at her chest. This was no fragile creature held within the confines of this injured body. There was, nonetheless, a hiss of pain at the violence. Anger entered those eyes, set within those features.

When they had discussed this plan, there was the potential that Niall would have to leave her body behind. Elliot might have wanted the body burned. The reasoning behind the sorceress' fear was that her magic was instilled within her very body. Her spirit would leave that power, that magical energy behind if it needed to be taken. They had been granted some small reprieve when the Knight had fallen to unconsciousness as well.

That magic, etched into runes upon her body, flared to life in response to the violence that Gloria dealt her. With a grunt, the creature reveled in the power arching through her body, stoked the fires of ambition as Gloria was given no small amount of pain. What felt like lightning likely arched through Gloria at the contact and there was a little, wicked chuff of laughter from the creature. The smell of ozone lit the air.

"You are a pestilence upon your friends, Gloria Wynsee. Niall entrusted this task to both of us. I call upon you to do your part and all you do is level threats. You know as well as I that your servant will not be able to still their hands for long. They want her burned. The girl must recuperate. Wounds need to be mended. Water and food must be given so that her body will heal. Do not speak of what you do not understand. Laying on a slab will do nothing."

The girl knew nothing, the creature was impatient. The runes would not quiet, no doubt reacting to the fury. "Step aside. Send them away. I will take her somewhere safe and your part will be finished."
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Re: The Body

Postby Rance » Sun Sep 08, 2013 2:42 pm

An azure flicker, like flame beneath the flesh of a walking corpse, a walking corpse, and then--

Her back hit the door, chest driven with an invisible sledge. She felt as if someone had taken her slouched spine and wrenched it to its greatest length. Her knees locked, her teeth drove down upon the edge of her tongue. The energy was an echo rattling through her, burning the brown sludge inside her bones with a flash of heat. Her boots scraped across the floor and fingers shot out like rigid little twigs.

Her eyes throbbed, pulsed behind her eyelids and against the rims of her sockets, begging to burst like overripe plums. Underneath her short-chewed fingernails, the beds were purple and black, swollen, burnt; the left eye twitched, twitched, quivered, begging to fall back into its natural blinking pace. A curled lip gave her a sneer, but not one she could instantly control -- the muscles atrophied with the surge, tightening them into knots and lumps under her flesh. A gloved hand caught herself on the door handle, fingers scrabbling against it to keep her standing.

"I did my part," she choked, the words coming out flat, stilted, slurred. "I did my part. I regret my part; I regret this whole loathsome spiral. Call me a coward. Do it. Call me a -- a coward, a little bird, label me a weakling. Flaunt your superiority, embellish your importance, pound me into paste. I will get back up.

"At least I know what -- what I am, pek'oret. A maggot. A stupid girl. But I'm no parasite slithering into corpses. You are as frightening as a nightmare. You may make a child soil her bed or -- or bring fear to her heart, but you are ephemeral, and you are temporary.

"Look me in the eye," said the jittering seamstress, slumping away from the door against the nearest wall, leaving the wooden portal free for the inhabited corpse to work should she desire. "See how much you -- you frighten me."

No hair-thin slivers of terror, no dampness, nothing. She'd stared into the Black Smoke, she'd jabbed out the guts of a Calamity, and she'd hammered apart the precious few friendships that mattered. Her tingling hands managed to stammer into her hip-side satchel and withdraw a bobbin of thread and a brown-bone needle, both of which she tossed to Niall's feet.

"Should you misuse that body, should you do anything counterproductive to Niall's continued well-being, I will tear you apart at -- at the seams.

"I will look into your eyes when they burn you," the girl promised, "and I will see how frightened you can be."
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Re: The Body

Postby Guppy » Tue Sep 10, 2013 11:31 am

The delight in the creature's eyes upon seeing the pain etched into every inch of the seamstress' features was plain. It made no apology as the young woman as her fingers caught her form against the door. "You, my dear little bird, are a coward. Make no mistake on that."

Her insults were taken in stride. "I am more permanent than you are," the monster offered, waving an impatient hand at the girl. "I am more than nightmare, but if it allows you to sleep at night, think what you like." It drifted from body to body. Living on, far beyond what It should. Lingering like an unwelcome guest. A low chortle sounded at the bravado leveled against the creature's prowess. "Little bird," the creature crooned as if it were an endearing term. "You fight so diligently against the evil that you inspire," she remarked, with amusement held in her tone. "You stand toe to toe against me when you were the one to initiate this plot. You come to me, pleading with me to help with your murky little schemes. Then, you act as if you are the innocent. Knight standing before the dragon," she mused, a lazy grin offered. "You can not play with monsters and still claim not to be one. You may stand against me, but only against trivial things. Meaningless actions. Don't worry, I offer no judgement. We with the black hats don't mind a little self delusion," she assured, white teeth glinting in the dim light.

The young woman bid It draw closer. Coaxed It into looking within her eyes to see the lack of fear that lay within her indomitable spirit. And so, she did. Palms came to rest at either side of her head, pressed against the wall. Mischief lurked within those darkened eyes and she peered close. Their noses might almost brush against one another, but the creature differed from Gloria in one major aspect - the creature knew the value of restraint. "You don't fear me, it is true. All the more foolish it makes you," she remarked. "But why would you, dear maggot? Your most fearsome enemy is yourself." She pushed herself away from the seamstress and stooped to grasp the needle and thread.

"Your threats do not concern me, girl. You may be stubborn, but you have burned too many bridges to truly matter at this point." The thread was tucked into a pocket and she lifted upon her toes to stretch lithely. "Don't worry yourself about Niall. The two of us are having a lovely time. " There was a slightly mad glint to those eyes. Hungry.

Gloria told the demon that she would watch It burn with relish. A flurry of activity and the creature sought to stand before the girl, mad eyes glinting, mere steps away from touching her. She grinned and snapped her teeth at Gloria. "I will stare back, dear heart. I was born of flames. They are like home."

She turned, heading for the door, and knocked lightly in a merry little ditty. "Oh, dearest Jule. It is a miracle!," she whispered, ear pressed firmly against the wood of the door.
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Re: The Body

Postby Rance » Tue Sep 10, 2013 1:51 pm

It was so close to her that they shared the same breath. Gloria was a rigid stone, her knees slightly bent as her back pressed itself so near to the wall that she hoped she might dissolve into it, become one with the wood and grain -- her skin was already so close to the color, her teeth were already so broken and splintered, it would make little difference.

You can not play with monsters and still claim not to be one.

She turned her cheek against the beast's words, her nose wrinkling as if it were a crouched gargoyle relieved against the contours of her face. The creature manipulated the chords of Niall's voice as if they were a well-directed choir, contorting them to a voice that was not the spearwielder's whatsoever. With the azure marks and the suffocating presence of It so near, she found difficulty in forcing her lungs to their industry -- when she breathed, her whole chest shuddered beneath her blouse. She shrunk, a maggot that had not yet found its filmy wings. Her skirts slithered sidewinder paths across the floorboards. The girl was tense, sweating, gaze flicking to Niall's left eye, to her right.

Searching for something beneath those black-glazed stones that had the sharpness of glass knives.

You may be stubborn, but you have burned too many bridges to truly matter at this point.

"You're familiar enough with my penchant to destroy, to burn bridges, to set into -- into motion acts that annihilate friendships, lives, and love. I am young. I am a little bird. I will learn, pek'oret. I will grow my feathers, and -- and my talons will be fierce. You see?

"Five years from now. Ten years. Twenty. I will put my blade to the hilt in Giuseppe's throat; I will remove one terrible shadow from this place. And when his blood still dries beneath my fingernails, I will show you how -- how adept I have become at breaking more than simply those things I hold most dear."

She'd no knowledge of the pacts and contracts drawn between It and Giuseppe. The words were more brave and performative than she believed them. They were Jernoan; they were artistic threats, dashed with a brushstroke of youthful impulse and girlish courage. An hour later or a day beyond, she would reflect upon them through the safety of her own tears and wonder why things were more complex than stitches and embroidery now. She would ruminate upon the blur of the past weeks and try to pin down how a paralyzing fear of knives had become breathless reliance on them--

Yet, she had one more task: to lean aside enough, twist the knob, and open the unbarred door to the rest of the Rememdium for It.

"Jule ran off to his prayers after bidding me here. Some things should -- should never come to be, pek'oret. Like you."
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Re: The Body

Postby Guppy » Sun Sep 15, 2013 10:37 am

Gloria vowed to become better, promised to grow into something stalwart and strong. The creature offered a sage nod. "Perhaps." A finger lifted in the air, punctuating a point. "If you live that long. You will have to learn much if that is to occur. How to hold your tongue and still your opinions, for instance. How to better arm yourself against one stronger. I will be awaiting that change with great interest, little bird," the creature crooned as she pushed away. Tired of the girl, attention waning.

When the seamstress spoke of Giuseppe, however, a certain glint came to that sharp gaze. Attention returned, cast over a shoulder as she paused on her way towards the door. "Good luck to you, dear. Though, I have vowed to be the one to bring about his downfall, if it should occur. If you kill him, I will be there to give his vengeance. I will be there to rip you into little ribbons of principles in the street. He is mine, Wynsee. To love or to destroy, as I wish. Just like your Noura." It was possessive. Greedy.

The seamstress stalked ahead and threw open the door with relish. Her words were sharp, but were like pinpricks against the creature's armored hide. "Oh, Myrken likes things a little dingy, little maggot. You and I were both meant to be here." A fist clenched, showing solidarity, in front of the girl's face and her eyes gleamed. "Both of us with our penchant for destruction."

The monster laughed and moved to stride forth in Its brand new, shiny form. "I'll be seeing you around, Wynsee."

The words were ominous.
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